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    Summary

    His shirt, his shirt was—

    “You can’t—“ Shane blurted, “you can’t—you’re not supposed to wear a see-through shirt to Wimbledon. There’s a dress code. There are rules. Like, actual rules that actual people follow.”

    The man turned, his eyes sweeping over Shane’s face, down his chest, to the hands clutching the gift bag in his lap.

    Shane’s skin prickled. God, it was so hot out here.

    “Is not see-through.”

    Not see-through? Who was this guy kidding, with his barely-there shirt, tight pants, wild curls, and deep voice?

    Maybe this guy didn’t own a mirror.

    “What do you mean it’s not see-through? It’s obviously transparent. A blind man would notice.”

    “Is not transparent. No blind men here to ask.”

    Shane’s mouth dropped open. He looked away, squaring his shoulders and sitting up straight. Just his luck to be seated next to a lunatic.

    ***

    Shane’s mom said it would be fun, to sit next to a Swedish princess.
    What Shane got instead was a Prince with a pinkie ring, a nipple piercing, and zero respect for the Wimbledon dress code.

    Language:
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    Chapters:
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